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One response to this post.

  1. Am I too late?

    This is the game I play
    the one where I beg you
    to open me up with your razor
    and let my soul out to
    stoll along the banks
    of your bloodthick river.

    You want to hear my screams,
    and I your heartbeat.
    Is there anyone left alive
    in that hollow chest,
    behind those shuttered eyes
    after all the wickedness
    we’ve wrought?

    I would be happy
    to play your victim,
    to feed my face
    with the back of your hand.
    Just one more slap
    to let it out, good and loud.
    Don’t fail me now, lover.
    I’ll sup on the rich broth
    of your anger.
    But you have to promise
    not to love the wreck
    you make of me.

    That’s a game I’m no good at.


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